(not) holding together
by hollyhobbit101
Summary: Sam's lips curled up into a smirk that was decidedly not-Sam. "Hey Dean."


**A/N: It's May 2nd, you all know what that means! Yup, it's time for my annual, obligatory fics celebrating Sam Winchester. The mods over at OhSam on LiveJournal set up a hurt vs. comfort meme in which we had to choose between focussing on hurt or comfort in our chosen prompts. It will come as no surprise that I chose hurt for each prompt that I picked. This is the first of three fics I will be posting to celebrate Sam's birthday.**

 **Prompt: "Where's Sam?**

 **"Sam... Sam isn't quite himself right now."**

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When Dean returned to the bunker to find Crowley mixing up a spell, and no Sam in sight, he knew it was going to be a bad day. He grabbed an angel blade out of his weapons bag and stalked over to the demon, glaring furiously.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" he hissed. "And where's Sam?"

"Nice to see you too, Squirrel," Crowley replied casually, not looking up from his work. "It's been too long."

"Start explaining, or I start cutting," he growled, the mark on his arm pulsing with glee.

"Ah, well, we have a little problem with that ginger bitch Abaddon, and I needed to acquire some ingredients for a spell to stop her. Happily, your bunker is wonderfully well-stocked, so if you'll let me continue..."

Dean narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "What do you mean ' _we_ have a problem'? Where's Sam?"

Crowley sighed and, for the first time, looked away from whatever he was doing to face Dean. "Sam... Sam isn't quite himself right now."

"What have you done with my brother?" Dean asked, his voice deadly calm. He stepped closer to Crowley, holding his blade threateningly in front of him. Crowley scrambled backwards, holding his hands up placatingly.

"I haven't done anything to Moose - in fact, I'm the one trying to clean up this bloody mess. Remember when that angel of yours removed Sam's tattoo to let me save the day? Well, when Abaddon caught wind that a Winchester was free to let, she decided to snap him up before anyone else could. I would've told her not to bother - trust me, it's not pretty in there - but of course she'd never listen to _my_ advice."

"Abaddon is possessing my brother?" Dean half-yelled, his hand starting to shake. Crowley merely sighed and rolled his eyes.

"Calm down, mummy. Believe me, I don't want Abaddon in your brother any more than you do. I know a spell - it won't kill the bitch, but it should pull her out of Moose." He smirked then, causing Dean to become further enraged.

"What do you mean _should_? Are you telling me this might not work?"

"Do you want Abaddon out of Sam or not?" Crowley challenged. "Spell's good; you'll just have to trust me."

Crowley raised an eyebrow at Dean, who glared in response. "Fine," he ground out. "But if this goes wrong..."

"Yes, yes, you'll rip my heart out and feed it to the dogs. Love you too," Crowley said flippantly.

Dean rolled his eyes, but tucked his blade inside his jacket. He walked over to the table, where a bowl stood on the surface. It contained a few herbs and dirt, and something which looked suspiciously like a crushed up bone, which had all been mixed together. He went to touch it, then decided better of it and pulled away.

"So how are you going to get Abaddon here anyway?" he asked.

"Oh, you know the old saying," Crowley began. "Speak of the devil-"

"-And she will appear." Sam's voice came from behind Dean, and he spun quickly towards the source. Sam's lips were pulled up into a grin that was decidedly _not_ -Sam, and some dark amusement was flashing behind his eyes. "Dean. Crowley," he - _she_ \- greeted.

Dean's hands balled into fists at his side, and red began to descend down his vision. "What have you done to my brother, you bitch," he growled.

"Oh, I've had a lot of fun with little Sammy. It's really quite entertaining. Besides, I like this body - I think I'll keep it." She stretched Sam's hands out in front of her, smiling as she surveyed his body. Suddenly, she thrust her palms towards Dean and Crowley, and they flew backwards, slamming with loud crashes to the floor. Dean grunted in pain, watching through blurred vision as Abaddon stalked towards him. She crouched down in front of him, tilting her head and smiling.

"You know, Dean," she said, low enough that Crowley couldn't hear them. "I've been in Sam a while, and it really is a treat to see what's been going on in his head. So much self-loathing and anger and..." She tilted her head, looking as though she was rifling through Sam's memories. Which, Dean thought, was probably what she was doing.

"Oh," she said softly. "Looks like I'm not the first to take this body for a spin. Have you ever been possessed, Dean? Do you know what it's like to have something else in control of you?"

Dean just glared at her, willing her to stop talking. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Crowley beginning to shift across the floor to where the bowl of ingredients lay.

"I'll tell you what it was like for your brother here. Let's see... Meg and Lucifer, they tied him down tight, made him watch everything that was happening, and he was powerless to stop it. Gadreel just shut your brother down - ugh, angels are too kind for their own good. Now, me? I have a slightly different method." She leaned closer to Dean so that her breath tickled his cheek. "I've thrown your brother deep into his own mind," she whispered. "He's living out some of his worst memories. Right now, he's having his intestines slowly carved out of his body."

Dean roared and swung at Abaddon, but before his fist could connect, she had grabbed him by the neck and lifted him off his feet. He brought his hands up to try and dislodge her, but she was too strong. Black spots had begun to appear in Dean's vision when he heard a shout from across the room.

"Hey!" Crowley held a lit match over the bowl, wearing a smug grin. "Point Crowley."

He dropped the match into the bowl, sending sparks flying. Abaddon released Dean, and he flopped to the floor where he lay gasping. She clawed at her neck, coughing and choking until, finally, she screamed, black smoke streaming out of Sam's mouth and into the floor. When it was over, Sam dropped, like a marionette with its strings cut, eyes closed. Dean crawled over to him and placed a hand on his chest, relieved when he felt movement beneath his fingers. He flopped onto his back, breathing heavily.

"No need to thank me," Crowley said. Dean looked up, but the demon was gone. He turned back to Sam, who was finally beginning to stir.

"Hey, Sam," he said, reaching out and placing a hand on Sam's shoulder. At the touch, Sam suddenly lurched upright, scrambling to get away from Dean, his eyes wild and frantic. Dean shifted backwards, startled, but raised his hands. "It's just me, dude. You okay?" he tried, voice calm and soothing.

Sam's eyes darted this way and that, never focusing on one thing. His nails were digging into the hard floor of the library, and he was quivering all over. "This isn't real," he muttered under his breath. "Not real, not real, not real."

Dean's heart broke as he heard his brother, remembering not so long ago when they had gone through the exact same thing. He took a steadying breath, then tried moving a little closer. Sam didn't rear back this time, which Dean counted as a win, although it was probably because of how spaced out the kid was. "Sammy, you're not there anymore. It was Abaddon, she was messing with your head, that's all."

Sam now had his eyes squeezed tightly shut, and he was rocking where he sat, still continuing his chant of _notrealnotrealnotreal_.

Dean sighed in frustration and swiped a hand across his face. His brother was breaking apart in front of him _(again)_ and he had no fucking clue what to do. "Sam, he's gone. Lucifer's gone," he pleaded, hoping that would trigger something in Sam's head.

At the mention of Lucifer, Sam's head jerked up, and he finally met Dean's eyes. A part of Dean rejoiced for a second that Sam had returned to lucidity, but it was short-lived.

"No. You're wrong. He's never gone," Sam whispered hoarsely, then pulled himself onto unsteady legs and wobbled out of the room. Everything in Dean screamed at him to go after his brother, to _help him for fuck's sake_ , but he felt rooted to the floor. There was something broken in his little brother, perhaps had been for a while, and Dean had no idea how to fix it. It couldn't be mended with a few stitches and some good whiskey, no, this was something deeper. _Soul deep_ , and there was nothing Dean could do.

He heard a door slam somewhere in the bunker's depths. It felt like so much more.

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 **A/N: I hope you guys enjoyed that! There are going to be two more fics, I may or may not finish another one tonight, but they should all be up by Friday. Thanks for reading, and please leave a review if you have a moment. Bye!**


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